


One More Night

by cathcer1984



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Age Difference, Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha Scott, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Canon Compliant, Consensual Kink, Deputy Isaac Lahey, Good Peter, Gun Violence, Hurt Sheriff Stilinski, M/M, Post-Canon, Top Peter Hale, don't ask how a mob boss can be good it just happened, kink discussion, mob boss Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-18 00:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21518956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathcer1984/pseuds/cathcer1984
Summary: Stiles desperately needs money to help pay off his dad's medical bills after he's shot.He's so desperate he goes to the bar owned by California's answer to the Mafia, the Wilk Family. Stiles gets more than a he bargained for.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 28
Kudos: 1116
Collections: Not to be misplaced





	One More Night

**Author's Note:**

> For the anon who sent me this tumblr prompt: _a steter fic where Stiles is caught in a bank robbery(or something) but the robber recognize him and leave him alone. He finds out Peter Hale has put him on the 'no harm's list._
> 
> I did not get the bank robbery part at all. Hope you don't mind! I've never written a mob au before, I hope I did it justice for you.
> 
> Additional warnings in end note: relates to drunkness
> 
> Polish phonetic pronunciation of wilk is from [here at forvo](https://forvo.com/word/wilk/). Otherwise it's meant to be read as 'will-k'.

Stiles is desperate. That's the only reason why he's even considering doing this. It's stupid and reckless and beyond dangerous.

But Stiles is beyond desperate.

With a deep breath in and holding it Stiles enters Lunatic, one of the well known businesses belonging to the Wilk Family, California's answer to the Mafia. They have risen quickly over the last seven years, to become the biggest crime family on the west coast. It's on the outskirts of Beacon Hills and had been the subject of many raids led by Stiles' dad. Stepping over the threshold into Lunatic, Stiles lets the air woos out of him in a rush. It looks like any kind of bar, nothing extravagant that states 'mob owned' nor is it a dive. It's underwhelming.  
  
He makes his way to the bar and slumps onto a stool.

"What'll it be, kid?" The barman has a kind face, dark eyes roaming over Stiles' features. Stiles thinks he sees a spark of surprise or maybe recognition but the man's face smooths over quick enough that he could have been imagining it.

"Whiskey, neat." Stiles slurs. He wants to drown his sorrows.

The man frowns, "bad day, kid?"  
  
"Not a kid." Stiles puts his elbow on the bar, face in his hand, falling down when it slips off the edge. Feeling his face burn and seeing the amusement in the barman's face makes Stiles regret coming here. "God, this was a mistake."  
  
"No!" The barman is loud and quick, his hand shoots out to hold Stiles' shoulder. "Just have a drink, kid, on the house." He pours a whiskey into a tumbler and slides it onto a napkin over to Stiles.

As Stiles takes a sip he watches in the mirror behind the barman how a man in a dark grey suit is on the phone. He's talking rapidly and staring at Stiles. The barman has finished serving the other customers and wanders back down. He looks casual but Stiles knows it's deliberate.  
  
"Tell me about your bad day, kid."  
  
"Stiles. S'my name, Stiles." He holds out a hand for the barman to shake.

"Jamal." He smiles, it's big and bright in the otherwise dark gloom of Stiles' life at the moment. "What's got you so blue, Stiles?"

"My dad got shot."

"Shit."

Stiles tips his glass up, "cheers to that." He drains the remaining whiskey. Jamal gives him some more. Waving him away when he tries to pay. Stiles shrugs and sips at it.

"How'd get shot?"

"With a gun, Jamal."

Jamal chuckles and rolls his eyes, he goes to say something else but he's distracted by phone-guy behind Stiles. In the mirror, phone-guy is gesturing Jamal over, with a mutter about a customer Jamal leaves Stiles to drink.

He watches as phone-guy harshly shoves the phone in Jamal's face. Jamal listens for a bit then talks. Jamal's eyes meet Stiles' in the mirror and widen slightly. Stiles pretends to slide off his stool.

Jamal is walking closer and Stiles hears him say quietly "he's drunk, Mr Wilk" before warm hands are helping him back onto the stool. "Easy, now, kid. Yeah, he's-"  
  
"That your boss?" Stiles slurs and he tries to grab for the phone, getting a handful of Jamal's shirt instead. "Le' me talk to 'im. _Please_ , I need money." The weight of what Stiles is trying to do, the worry and pain and anger and drink makes him cry.

Jamal mutters "fuck," before phone-guy is taking the phone that's handed back to him. Jamal's big, warm hands curl around Stiles' back as he sobs and sniffles. He slumps onto Jamal's chest, letting the other man take his weight and guide him from the stool. Stumbling along Stiles is led behind the bar into an office, he's placed on the worn couch and Jamal covers him with a blanket. "Get some rest, kid."

Stiles closes his eyes and falls asleep.

When the door clicks shut behind Jamal and the lock sounds Stiles is up, glancing around. He looks through the desk, nothing but paperwork for the bar he takes photos though. The computer is old and password protected.

There's nothing else to go through. The space is small, windowless just the couch shoved up against the back wall, the desk and a small chair next to the door opposite the couch. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Stiles gazes around, he needs to find something, _anything_ that can help him.

Stiles searches the couch, shoving his hands down the sides, lifting the cushions and coming up empty. A waste of time. He slumps down onto the floor and his fingers brush the edge of the couch, it's about half an inch off the ground. Using his phone for light Stiles searches underneath it, he can see a piece of paper.

It's close to the front and partially ripped but it's something he can pass on. Only when he looks at it Stiles freezes. He recognises this photo, it came from his high school year book in 2013. It's six years old but he hasn't changed much.

It terrifies him. Seeing half his face staring up at him, goofy grin in place. What the fuck is this doing here? Stiles has definitely made a mistake.

He lies back down on the sofa, blanket over him and he sends off a text with a picture of the photo attached. Pushing it back under the sofa Stiles turns off his phone's light and lies down. He takes some deep breaths to control his breathing and try to make his heart stop beating so fast but Stiles can't help but think he's deeper than he thought he already was.

**  
  
Somehow Stiles managed to fall asleep and he wakes up when the door opens and the office floods with light.

"Hey, kid." Jamal greets him with a steaming cup of tea. Stiles takes it gratefully, feeling sick at how Jamal knew he drinks tea and not coffee. "How you feeling?"  
  
"Stupid." Stiles runs a hand through his hair. "I feel like such an idiot."  
  
"Don't beat yourself up, kid. We all do things when we're desperate." Jamal smiles kindly.

"Oh sure." Stiles says sarcastically. "We all come to the nearest mob base."  
  
Jamal laughs, "I did. I didn't have a home or a family. I ended up here and my boss was kind. Gave me help and a job, eventually a family."  
  
"The Wilk family." Stiles nods.  
  
Eyes narrowed, Jamal stills. "How do you know that name? It's not common knowledge to the public."

"Ah." Stiles sips his tea. "My dad was the Sheriff."

"Oh." Jamal licks his lips.

"I should go." Stiles says, feeling unsafe.

Jamal sits, so he's no longer towering over Stiles. "No, don't. You're safe here."  
  
Letting out a bitter laugh Stiles snarks, "a cops kid safe in the mob den, yeah right."  
  
Jamal goes to the desk and he sits down at the computer. He moves to the side so Stiles can see the screen and can't leave the office. Fingers tapping away Jamal opens a document, on it is a more recent picture of Stiles. One when he's coming out of the hospital after seeing his dad. It's from far away, zoomed in so the quality is blurry.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"  
  
"Hang on, kid." Jamal scrolls down a little and there underneath is a photo of Scott, then his dad, Melissa, Derek, Cora, Malia and even Lydia, and Chris Argent.

"What the fuck!" Stiles stands, or tries to he gets tangled in the blanket and the small space, he spills tea on himself and Jamal watches him calmly. He never moves, keeps his hands on the desk. It makes Stiles stop, heart beating rapidly.

"This is the no harm list, kid. Right from the top. Mr Wilk set it up, none of you on this list is to be harmed." Jamal turns to face Stiles better, gently he takes the cup away and places it on the desk. "You're safe here because you're Stiles Stilinski and you're number one on the list. We won't hurt you because it's more than our lives' worth."  
  
Stiles sinks onto the couch. He stares at Jamal. "Who is your boss?"  
  
"Cops don't know that one, do they?" Jamal looks pleased. "To be honest, not everybody in the family gets to meet the boss, he has to know he can trust them."  
  
"Oh." Stiles can't keep the disappointment out his voice.  
  
"Don't look so down, kid. Mr Wilk wants to see you, he's sent a car to take you to his place."

"Tonight?" Stiles gulps.  
  
"Now," Jamal grins and he stands up, moving aside so Stiles can stand too. Stiles looks at the time on his phone, it's nearing one in the morning.

"This is insane."  
  
"Look, kid, you don't have to go. You can leave here right not and go about your life." Jamal looks at Stiles seriously, "but you came to Lunatic for a reason. You need help, Mr Wilk can and will provide that."  
  
Stiles nods and lets Jamal lead him through the bar, it's busier now and full of family members that all watch Stiles as he follows Jamal. Outside it's cold, there's a sleek black car waiting outside. Jamal opens the back door.

With no hesitation Stiles gets in, he has to see this through to the end.

"See you soon, kid." Jamal goes to shut the door but Stiles holds out his hand.

"Jamal, thank you."

"No problem, kid. Take care." Jamal shuts the door and he taps on the roof twice. The driver starts the engine as the car pulls out onto the road and heads off into the dark Stiles send off another text and turns the GPS location on his phone on.

The driver doesn't speak and neither does Stiles. He fidgets and taps his fingers and bounces his knee and clicks the middle seat belt release button over and over and over and over.

Just over half an hour later Stiles gets a text, confirmation of information and tracking. He feels a little bit better.

After driving for an hour they reach L.A. Stiles shouldn't be as surprised as he is that the mob boss, head of the Wilk family lives in a city full of people. The car pulls into an underground garage, it's the only car.

The driver gets out and opens the door.

"That lift there, sir and straight to the top. Mr Wilk is waiting for you"

Stiles looks between the driver's old, kind face and the lonely elevator doors. The shiny metal out of place in the matte grey of the concrete walls.  
  
"If you please, sir." The driver said. He had a posh English accent. "I cannot leave until I see you through those doors, sir. More than my job's worth."

"Right. Sorry." Stiles steels himself and walks towards them. He pushes the up arrow and the doors spring open immediately. "Thanks." Stiles calls out to the driver as they shut, he sees the man bow and then he's gone.

Stiles sees the numbers for floors all the way up to twenty-four and then at the very top a black 'P' sits elegantly in the centre of a gold circle. With a shaking hand Stiles presses it. It lights up and the elevator jolts to life.

Taking his phone out his pocket Stiles sees he has not reception. As the lift moves up it doesn't get much better. He still sends off a text that should send when he leaves the elevator. Then he turns his phone onto vibrate.

He feels his palms get sweaty and he wipes them on his hoodie. His heart is pounding so hard he can feel it in his chest and Stiles has to concentrate on keeping his breathing even as the numbers get higher and the elevator gets slower.

It stops.

For along heart-stopping moment nothing happens. The doors open and Stiles finds himself in an opulent apartment. There is a low back couch and round coffee table in front of him but Stiles barely sees them, he's too busy looking straight over the top of them through the floor to ceiling windows at the view of downtown Los Angeles lit up at night.

Stiles moves around the furniture, barely taking in the rest of the space that's set up like a living room, dining room with the kitchen to his right. To the left is a staircase leading up to a mezzanine floor where he assumes the bedroom is.

The view is spectacular. Stiles catches sight of a man's reflection in the window, he pretends to study the view as he tries to get some more detail. This is the boss, the head of the Wilk mob family. Stiles is excited and terrified at the same time.

He has broad shoulders, his chest is big too where his arms are folded over it, he has light brown hair. He leans against the wall between the elevator doors and the kitchen. He has on dark grey or black trousers, his shirt is pale with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms.

"Have you figured it out yet?"

Stiles lets out a sound of surprise and he spins around so quickly he loses balance. "Peter fucking Hale."

Peter smirks. "Hello, Stiles."

"Now Stiles are you honestly surprised?" Peter pushes himself off the wall and stalks across the floor to stand at Stiles' side staring out over the city lights. "Wilk means wolf in Polish."

"Not with that pronunciation is isn't." Stiles says watching Peter's face in profile and in the reflection. "Vee-l-kuh." Stiles exaggerated the correct pronunciation.

"American bastardization of foreign languages is not only expected ,it's part of our culture at this point. That's beside the point, I left enough clues for you. Mr Wolf, I named the bar in _Beacon Hills_ , Lunatic, as in moon-sick. You saw my no harm list." Peter glances at Stiles, head tipping slightly. "The people on it."

"I'm surprised Lydia is on there."

"She is important to you." Peter says honestly. He slips his hands into his pockets.

"And Chris?" Stiles asks. "He's not someone I care much about."

"If anyone is going to kill Chris Argent it's going to be me." Peter hums. "Or another hunter, I don't care. No one in my family can do it."

Stiles is in a bit of disbelief. "I can't believe you thought becoming a criminal overlord was a good idea."

"Please, I'm a mob boss." Peter rolls his eyes. "You know I have an aptitude for legal loopholes and proclivity towards manipulating people into doing what I want so I don't have to get my claws dirty." Peter turns to face Stiles. "Unless I want to, of course."

He seems to hesitate before flashing his eyes, they're red. Stiles takes a step back. "I needed to rebuild my Pack. I brought in omegas and other lonely supernaturals, we made a family. Soon enough humans came in as well."

"You're making it sound like something good."

"It is, Stiles. Don't you see?" Peter has that manic gleam in his eye. "I have a family again, a _Pack_ we aren't like the Mafia on the east coast. We take in people that need help, people like Isaac that has to get away from bad people."

"But you make those people 'disappear'." Stiles even uses his fingers to make air quotes.

"Does the world really miss them?" Peter challenges.

Stiles doesn't answer him. Morally he doesn't give a shit what happens to abusers and rapists that don't get caught but he should and that's the toughest part to swallow. He should care that Peter is ordering their deaths, even killing them himself maybe.

"You told Jamal you need help." Peter changes the subject, voice soft.

"Medical bills."

"Your father was shot in the lone of duty." It's common knowledge, no surprise that Peter knows that. "Insurance for police officers is usually too high, dangerous job and whatnot."

"He's in a long term care ward. He might never walk again." Stiles admits, "I don't know what to do."

"So you came to me." Peter fills in for him, hands in his pockets, figure relaxed.

"I came to the fucking Californian mob." Stiles spits out furious with himself.

Peter reaches out slowly and settles a hand on the back of Stiles' neck, fingers warm and firm. "You came to _me_." Peter says fiercely. He leans close enough that their foreheads are pressed together and Stiles can feel the puffs of Peter's breath against his lips. "You just didn't know it. Of course I'll help you, Stiles. Whatever you need. Money, a place to stay. Anything."

"How'd you know I need somewhere to stay?"

Stiles can see Peter's eye crinkle up with a smile, it's pretty much all he can see. "I lost track of you after you left for college. You only came back to California when your dad was hurt. I assumed you dropped everything to come back. You could stay with Scott if you wanted but I know you're not the type to accept charity."

"You're not offering charity?"

Peter pulls back. "Nothing in this family comes for free. You'll pay me back."

Stiles swallows before asking, "how?"

With a smirk Peter pulls away completely. "You're smart enough. You'll think of a way."

They watch each other for a long, drawn out moment before Stiles flings himself forward. Peter takes his weight easily and Stiles presses their lips together. He sucks Peter's bottom lip into his mouth, biting down. Peter kisses him back, demanding and deep and wet. 

When they break apart they're both panting. "I don't accept sex as payment." Peter says.

"This isn't payment, Peter." Stiles tugs off his hoodie and slides his hands around Peter's neck holding each side. "This is gratitude and relief. So fuck me."

"Here?" Peter murmurs, coming close. He pushes Stiles back against the glass with hands on his hips, "where anyone could see?"

"Maybe another time. I want this first time to be in a bed."

"First time?" Peter repeats. "Are you still a virgin Stiles?"

"Would you like that?" Stiles asks, hand sliding down to cup Peter's half hard cock through his pants. "Would like to be the first one to claim me, to fill me up, to fuck me?"

Peter's eyes shift, his fangs drop and Stiles can feel claws digging into his hips. "Yeah, you would, wouldn't you? Come on, be the first."

The kiss again, mouths meeting Stiles cuts his tongue on Peter's too sharp canines. Peter sucks the blood from his tongue, it's a heady feeling that makes Stiles moan and rut against hip.

"Take me to bed, Peter." Stiles whispers. "Fuck me, _Alpha_."

With a growl, Peter picks Stiles up with ease and carries him up the stairs to the bedroom.

**

When Stiles wakes up he's sticky and sore in the best way. Stretching he accidentally hits Peter in the face. The growl he releases makes Stiles open his eyes.

"Uh, sorry." Stiles says sheepishly and he turns into his side to look over at Peter. Peter's just as naked as Stiles, the sheets are pulled up to his waist. He appears as relaxed and fucked out as Stiles feels.

"Is that how you usually wake up your bed mate?"

"I didn't think you'd be here still."

Something flashes across Peter's face but it's gone before Stiles can process it, covered by a smirk. "It's my bed Stiles. And I was up very late last night."

"Oh?" Stiles smiles coyly. "Were you now?"

"Mmmhmm." Peter hums as he nods. He folds his arms behind his head. "It was incredibly inconvenient."

Stiles slides across the bed and straddles Peter's thighs. Under him he can feel Peter's hot skin, his cock hard and pressed against the underside of Stiles'.

"Tell me more of this inconvenience." Stiles rests his hands on Peter's chest, curling his fingers in the with hairs there. He starts to rock his hips, sliding their dicks together.

"Pretty and mouthy young thing. He was so desperate, begging for my cock." Peter smirks.

"Yeah?" Stiles is breathless already. Peter moves one hand from behind his head and presses his fingers against Stiles' hole.

"I gave it to him, of course."

"Of course," Stiles agrees throwing his head back with a moan. "You're generous like that."

"Indeed I am." Peter grabs the lube and slicks his fingers quickly. He puts his arm back behind his head then pushes two slick fingers into Stiles. "He was so shameless. So desperate."

Stiles looks down at him, Peter is watching him hungrily almost as if he's cataloguing Stiles' every reaction, every moan, gasp and facial expression.

"Look at you," Peter murmurs. He's lazily thrusting his fingers and rocking his hips into Stiles. "You want me again, don't you, Stiles? Want to sit my cock?"

"Yes, please." Stiles gasps out. "Peter, Peter please. In me, Peter, I need you."

"Alright sweetheart, since you asked so nicely." Peter removed his fingers and smiles widely when Stiles let out a whine. He moves his hands to Stiles' hips holding him up while Stiles grabs the lube to slick Peter's cock and hold it steady while he sinks down.

They both moan. Peter keeps his hands on Stiles' hips guiding his movements. It's still slow and deliberate, Stiles is enjoying the feeling of Peter inside him, stretching him and filling him up.

"You're so beautiful like this." Peter says softly. "Covered in my marks, mouth gaping as you pant for my dick. You want something in your mouth too darling?"

Stiles doesn't get the time to say anything before Peter is resting two fingers on his tongue. Immediately he starts to suck them, tongue moving around and between them. He sucks hard and moves his hips faster.

"There we go, sweetheart. All filled up now aren't you?" Peter closes his eyes and his nostrils flare, "you smell divine. Like mine, like arousal and sex."

Opening his mouth around Peter's fingers Stiles let's out a groan, tipping his head back slightly to keep Peter's fingers on his tongue. Peter moves his fingers pressing them in firm circles over Stiles' tongue before sliding them out his mouth and into his hair.

Peter grips Stiles tight at his hip and his hair. He uses his strength to haul Stiles down into a bruising kiss. Peter dominates Stiles' mouth with his lips, teeth and tongue. He fucks up into Stiles hard and fast, Stiles has given up trying to match his movements and just holds onto Peter for the ride.

Soon enough he's panting and moaning into Peter's mouth. Peter's thrusts are erratic and Stiles comes with a loud cry, biting then sucking on Peter's lower lip.

He slumps onto Peter and lets him fuck into his pliant body until Peter comes with a roar. Stiles drops his head to mouth at Peter's neck sucking, biting, kissing and licking at the sweaty skin there. Peter lets him, even going so far as to shift his head to the side to give Stiles more room.

Peter is making a low rumble in his chest, it vibrates through Stiles. He shifts his hips back, clenching around Peter's softening cock, trying to to keep him and his come inside. 

"Baby," Peter moans, his hands sliding down Stiles' back to his ass. With a whine Stiles lifts his ass letting Peter's cock slip out and some of his come drips down before Peter pushes his fingers inside. "Fuck, baby, you're so greedy."

"I want-" Stiles takes a deep shuddering breath. "As much as I can have."

"Anything you want, baby. Anything at all." Peter promises.

Stiles knows that when he does eventually leave Peter's bed that'll be it. This dalliance between them will be over. He'll never get to come back.

"You know what I really want?"

"Is it food?" Peter asks tiredly. "Because that can wait until I've had a nap."

"No, it's not food. I indulged your links last night," Stiles remembers the feeling of Peter's tie binding his wrists together. The feel of Peter's hand on his throat and being called 'baby' and 'sweetheart' and 'darling'.

"Alright, darling, tell me your kink."

Stiles buries his hot cheeks in Peter's neck and clenches around his fingers. "I want your cock in me, soft, keeping your come in and I want you to get hard inside me."

"We can do that baby." Peter pulls his fingers out and turns Stiles onto his back before climbing between his legs.

He slicks his dick up with lube and Stiles holds his knees to chest. Peter lets out a breath like he was punched. With gentle hands, Peter stretches Stiles' rim a bit more using his fingers to hold Stiles open before working his soft cock inside.

Stiles groans. "Oh god, you're going to feel so good getting hard in me. How does it feel for you?"

"You're so warm and wet." Peter leans his weight down and kisses Stiles tenderly. "I'm going to nap like this."

"Okay, old man. You have your nap." Stiles strokes his fingers over Peter's back. Peter's breathing eases as he falls asleep face buried in Stiles' neck.

Stiles lies there trapped under Peter's weight with his soft cock inside him and running his hands up and down the warm skin of Peter's back.

Determinedly not thinking about everything outside this bed Stiles closes his eyes, holds Peter closer, tighter around the shoulders and he too, drifts into a doze.

**

A few minutes or hours later Stiles wakes up. Peter is already awake propped up on his elbows, eyes on Stiles, a soft smile on his face.

"There you are." Peter says quietly. "I've been trying to stay soft for you. Its been... difficult, darling."

Stiles clenches and feels Peter is partially hard, they watch each other as Peter gets hard. He's making these little noises that are driving Stiles wild.

Already hard Stiles wraps his legs around Peter's hips and leaning up to kiss him. Stiles is already hard. Peter is getting there and Stiles loves this feeling of him getting harder inside him, filling him up and stretching him.

Their kiss is tender. Peter rocks his hips gently. Stiles gasps and closes his eyes tightly against the suddenly influx of feelings.

This feels like a goodbye.  
  
Stiles keeps kissing Peter even as Peter holds his hands down by their wrists next to his head. Peter moves his hips slowly, barely pulling out before thrusting back in. His hands are gripping Stiles' wrists tightly. Stiles is clinging to Peter's hips with his legs, arching his back to meet the slow thrusts.

His orgasm sneaks up on him, Stiles feels it building in belly and thighs then with Peter's cock brushing against his prostate Stiles comes allover his belly and Peter's. He moans and breaks away from Peter's mouth to chant his name as Peter starts to move his hips harder and faster chasing his own release.

"Peter, Peter, Peter, come in me, mark me up Alpha. Peter," Stiles sighs as Peter orgasms with a howl, flooding Stiles with more come.

He releases Stiles' wrists to cup his face, holding on as they kiss, messy and desperate. Stiles sweeps his hands over Peter.

As they kiss Stiles knows he was wrong. This is not goodbye. It's so much more than that. At least it is from him, it's an I missed you, I want you, I need you and it's a thank you.

When Peter pulls away his eyes are still closed, Stiles can see the anguish on his face and he tries to kiss it away but Peter holds his face still. Blinking his open Peter smiles down at Stiles, it's tinged with sadness. "Thank you baby." Peter whispers.  
  
"For- what for?" Stiles gets out, voice breaking. He clears his throat.

"For this. For last night." Peter slides off him. "Would you like a shower?"

Stiles nods. He would like a shower and breakfast and to explore this, whatever _this_ is, with Peter but it's clear Peter doesn't want that. Feeling rejected, shameful Stiles climbs off the bed and walks into the en suite. Peter opens his mouth as though to say something, nothing comes out though and Stiles shuts the door.

He turns the shower on, making it so hot steam fills the bathroom in mere minutes and he scalds himself when he steps under the spray. Stiles makes it cooler to scrub at his skin getting rid of Peter's sweat, both of their come and trying to get rid of the bruises Peter has left behind on his wrists, neck, chest and hips.

It's easy to pretend he's not crying with the water washing over his face. Stiles feels stupid and knows he's made one of the biggest mistakes of his life but he can't regret it.

Peter is many things. He's not a good man, he's a murderer and a manipulator. He's tried to kill Stiles and his friends before, Peter has double crossed them and he's a goddamned mob boss.

However; Stiles is drawn to him. He always has been, since Peter listened to his 'no' in that car park even though he was lying. Peter knew he had been lying and had let him go. During the time Peter had spent with the Pack, Stiles had been drawn to his intelligence and his sarcasm. He was the one who knew how to separate Stiles from the Nogitsune.

Peter was the one Stiles had been trapped with during the wild hunt. They have a shared history. So this has to have meant something to both of them. Only it appears to have meant more to Stiles than to Peter.

Shutting of the water, Stiles shuts off his thoughts as well. He can't project too much in his scent to Peter. Slowly he dries off then wraps the towel around his waist.

When he opens the door to the bedroom, steam billows out around him and Stiles swallows dryly when he sees Peter sitting naked on the bed the sheets and covers around him a mess of lube and come and sweat.

Peter says nothing just watches as Stiles redresses. After shrugging into his plaid shirt Stiles pauses to press a kiss on Peter's cheek, close to the corner of his mouth. He feels the air Peter releases on a sigh.

"I'll see myself out." Stiles whispers. He wants to say something. More, though, he wants Peter to ask him to stay but nothing is said by either of them.

Stiles goes slowly down the stairs, waiting, _wanting_ to be called back. He's not and when the elevator doors close behind him Stiles feels his heart break at the loss.

He pushes the number one, hoping that level leads out onto the street.

His head thumps back against the wall and he rubs harshly at his burning eyes. When the doors open Stiles walks quickly through the mostly empty foyer, not taking in his surroundings. 

Stiles slumps into the first diner he sees ordering a tea. He finally checks his phone. There are a lot of missed calls and texts. He scrolls through them feeling more and more sick.

He jumps when the phone vibrates in his hand with an incoming call. Heart heavy Stiles answers. "Hello?"

"Stilinski. Good, you're alive. Where are you?"  
  
"Some diner in L.A."

"We'll get Gemma on your GPS and send a car. You need to be debriefed."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
The phone hangs up and Stiles sips his tea watching the busy street. When a police car pulls up outside, the two uniformed officers get out and come into the diner.  
  
"Stiles Stilinski?" One of them asks, he's big and bald and intimidating.

"Yeah."

"We're going to need you to come with us down to the station."

"How about no." Stiles says.

"How about you come with us willingly or we use force." One officer stated hand on his gun holster. Knowing how bad or fatal gun shots can be Stiles nods once, he throws a twenty on the table and stands.

The officers lead him away and out him in the back seat of the police car.

**

At the police station Stiles is let out of the car and led through to the Chief of Police's office. Inside she's sitting behind her desk, Rafe McCall in the first visitors chair. Stiles sinks into the second one.

"Chief Spencer, this is Special Agent Stiles Stilinski. Agent Stilinski, this is Chief Juliette Spencer."

"Hi." Stiles waves and wants to sink into the ground when her dark eyes fall to the love bites Peter left on his neck. Her bright pink lips purse and the lipstick makes it seem more even disapproving. He goes to tug his hoodie higher up his neck and stills when he realizes he's not wearing it.

Stiles took it off in Peter's living room and never picked it up.

"Agent Stilinski." Spencer nods once, her tight black curls bouncing with the movement.

"Agent Stilinski is working undercover. He's investigating the Wilk family." Rafe explains. "We're here to make you aware of our investigation and Stilinski's face as a courtesy. We might need you or your officers to turn a blind eye."

Spencer's bright pink lipstick emphasizes the distaste she feels about the order from Rafe. He obviously sense it and tags on, "of course you will be privy to the debriefings and information we have. You understand that while Mr. Wilk has his headquarters set up in your city, he works all across the east coast making it a federal investigation."

"Of course, Agent."

Stiles glances between the two. They stare each other down until a knock sounds. "Enter," Spencer calls.

"A Mr Hamilton is here." The uniformed officer says. "Says he's Mr Stilinski's lawyer."

"Thank you," Spencer says and when the door shuts she and Rafe turn their steely gazes onto Stiles.

"Mr Hamilton is Mr Wilk's personal lawyer. You must have made an impression and he must be having you followed if he knows you got picked up by the police."

Stiles nods, feeling confused, what the fuck is Peter playing at? "I informed Gemma yesterday that I found a photo from my old high school year book under the sofa at Lunatic. The bartender there-"

"Jamal Jones." Spencer interrupts.

"-Right. Jamal showed me another photo more recent of me leaving the hospital." Stiles licks his lips to wet them. "I never found out why."

"No?" Spencer asks. "You were sent in Mr Wilk's private car from Lunatic to his headquarters. Which you did not leave until midmorning. We are almost positive he lives in that building but cannot get a warrant to search it. We don't know what's actually in it."

"I only saw one room. The elevator stopped at the second floor, there was one doorway lit and it was a bedroom."

"You obviously weren't alone." Spencer says. Stiles glances at Rafe, he's quiet watching Stiles with his dark eyes.

"These are from the day before." Stiles lies with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I had sex with an old friend, the night before last. I can go back to Lunatic, talk to Jamal. He was friendly."

"So you didn't see Wilk."

"No. Not that I know of." Stiles shrugs, "we're all aware that Wilk is an alias."

"Of course we are." Spencer snaps and Rafe stands.

"Better get you in an interrogation room, before Mr Hamilton, was it? Makes a fuss."

Swiftly Stiles is led out the Chief's office and into an interrogation room. He's left alone and minutes later the door opens.

A man in a three piece suit enters. "Mr Stilinski, I am Roger Hamilton, your legal representation. Mr Wilk sent me. The police haven't questioned you yet have they."

Stiles shakes his head. "Nope. Not that I'll talk. They have no reason to hold me. I'm not under arrest so they'll have to let me go soon."

"You seem to know a lot." Roger smooths his blond hair back from his boyish face.

"My dad's a cop, dude. I know my way around police procedure."

Roger grins and holds out a hand for Stiles to shake, "I can see why Mr Wilk likes you."

"Have you met him?" Stiles asks lowly.

Roger tilts his head to the side, "as with most of his business affairs Mr Wilk communicates via phone calls."

Stiles snorts, typical Peter using his Alpha voice and having nothing written down to leave a paper trail. He's smart and paranoid.

They settle into silence before a uniformed officer and plain clothes detective come in. They ask questions that Roger refuses to let Stiles answer, not that he would have anyway.

Two hours later they're released. The same car and driver are waiting outside the police station. "Mr Hamilton," the driver tips his head and Roger nods back once.

He turns to shake Stiles' hand. "If they come for you again ring me." Roger hands Stiles a business card with just his name and phone number. Stiles puts it in his pocket.

"Thanks."

"Take care, Mr Stilinski." Roger walks away. Stiles watches him go before turning awkwardly to the driver.

"In you get, sir."

"Uh." Stiles hesitates.

"Mr Wilk has offered my services to take you wherever you need to go."

"Un-fucking-believable." Stiles fumes. He gets in the car and slams the door behind him. The driver gets into the front and turns to Stiles with a mild look of surprise on his usually bland face. "Take me back. To Wilk's apartment."

"Mr Wilk is not expecting you."

"Yeah, no shit. Take me the fuck back."

When the driver hesitates again, Stiles sighs harshly through his nose. "Do you have an express order _not_ to take me back?"

"No, sir."

"Do you have orders to take me where I want to go?"

"Yes, sir."

Stiles' phone rings. He has to answer it, it's the hospital. "This isn't over." Stiles tells the driver before he answers with "hello?"

"Is this Stiles Stilinski?"

"It is," Stiles holds his breath.

"My name is George Smith, I am with the Finance Office of Beacon Hill Memorial Hospital. I see that your father's medical bills have been paid in full. The account number is different and it's an unusually large sum considering your repayment scheme. I wanted to make sure it was something you had organised." Make sure it was legit, Stiles thinks. He tips his head back against the seat, eyes closed. He's so confused. "Mr Stilinski?"

"Yeah, sorry. It's all legit. I asked a friend to help me out. We can stop my repayment scheme, right?"

"Of course, Mr Stilinski. You'll need to clear that with your bank as well."

"Sure." Stiles is so overwhelmed he can hardly breathe. "Thanks. Anything else?"  
  
"No, that is all. Have a nice day."  
  
"Thanks, you too." Stiles listens to the dial tone. When he opens his eyes again, everything is blurry. He shuts them quickly and a tear drips down, Stiles wipes it away quickly.

The car starts to move. Stiles doesn't know where they're going and he doesn't care. He doesn't understand. Peter's paid for his dad's medical bills, they'd had an amazing night of sex and intimacy but they way things were left this morning, Stiles doesn't know where he stands.  
  
Stiles keeps his eyes closed and the journey continues. The car slows to a stop, Stiles hears the driver get out and then his door is opened. "We have arrived Mr Stilinski. That elevator there, as you know, sir."

Blinking his eyes opens Stiles hastily wipes them and gets out. He claps the driver on the back, "thank you."

"You're welcome, sir." The driver gives Stiles a kind smile and keeps his eyes on Stiles until the elevator doors shut behind him.

He pressed the P for penthouse and rides to the top. The doors open and this time Stiles ignores the view.

"Peter?" Stiles calls out glancing around. The living room and kitchen are empty. He tries a door he hadn't noticed before near the elevator doors, it's a study but also empty.

"Peter? Are you here?" Stiles climbs the stairs, when he finds the bedroom and en suite empty as well. He sinks into the mattress. Feeling exhausted and rejected Stiles looks at the bed. Peter hasn't changed the sheets, he hasn't even straightened the covers.

Stiles kicks off his shoes and flops down, back on the bed, legs still hanging over the side. He turns his head and Stiles' heart skips a beat. There, tucked under Peter's pillow is Stiles' hoodie, the one he'd left last night.

It gives Stiles hope that he's not as alone in his feelings as he initially thought.

He takes off his jeans, and his plaid overshirt and he flings his t-shirt to the side as well before crawling up the bed to lie down.

Exhausted from the late nights, the sex, the emotions and police interview Stiles settles down into Peter's bed, pulls the covers over himself and falls asleep.

**

Stiles wakes up slowly. He's warm and content, for the first time since he was sixteen when Scott was bitten (by Peter) Stiles feels safe to stretch and lazily open his eyes.

He's still alone. Stiles can't help the wash of disappointment that comes over him. He'd expected Peter to be home.

A horrid thought comes to him, what if Peter had been home? What if he'd seen Stiles in his bed and left again?

With a big sigh Stiles decides to see what Peter has in his kitchen. Maybe he can make a dinner or something, pass the time hoping for Peter to come back. Instead of waiting anxiously and working himself into a panic attack.

Stiles slides his plaid shirt on buttoning up all but the top two and bottom two buttons. When he reaches the top of the stairs Stiles freezes then hurries down- the elevator doors are opening.

He sees Peter's nostrils flare and his eyes go red before his gaze settles on Stiles. Stiles swallows and holds onto the rail.

"Stiles." Peter's voice is soft, lilting with an edge of hope that makes Stiles start to move.

Peter is in a three piece suit, incredibly well fitted. A glance at the clock on the kitchen wall tells Stiles it's just after six. He comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, closer to Peter but still so very far away.

"You-" Stiles stops, he doesn't even know what to say first.

"Me." Peter smirks, and for the first time Stiles can see through the facade and bravado that it is. It makes him stalk forward and pull Peter into a soft kiss that's all lips and barely there tongue.  
  
"You paid my dad's bill." Stiles whispers against Peter's mouth. "That was like a hundred and sixty thousand dollars." He kisses Peter again but this time Peter doesn't kiss him back.

Stiles pulls away feeling rejected, embarrassed and confused. Peter's nostrils flare as he takes in Stiles' scent. Stiles moves back a couple of steps so they are no longer touching.

"I told you I would." Peter says calmly. "And that you don't have to repay me with sex."

"That's not what I'm doing Peter."

"No?" Peter's head tips to the side, his voice dangerously quiet. "Would you have come back here if you hadn't have known?"

"Yes!" Stiles shouts. He flings his arm out, "ask whats-his-name. Your driver. I told him to bring me here before I got the call about the payme-"  
  
"Alberich." Peter interrupts. "My driver's name is Alberich. He's an elf."

"Of course he fucking is." Stiles mutters. He twists a hand in the hem of his shirt, "just ask him, Peter. I demanded to come back here. He was refusing."

"Then you got the phone call. About the money."

"Yeah, and I was so overwhelmed and confused. I wanted to talk to you so he, Alberich, brought me here." Stiles watches Peter carefully. There's such a discrepancy between them, Peter has all the money and physical strength and he's dressed. Stiles is vulnerable, barely clothed, in Peter's debt and physically incapable of stopping him if Peter attacks. But he won't, Stiles _knows_ he won't.

"After your two hour visit with the police." Peter narrows his eyes. He hasn't moved from his place a step in front of the elevator doors, he is still holding onto his briefcase.

"Yeah, how did-" Stiles rolls his eyes. "Of course you knew, you're have me followed."  
  
"Not followed, you're merely being watched just in case. You're on my no harm list for a reason, Stiles. It means you're a weak point of mine, easily exploitable." Peter waves his free hand around. "The police know this is where _Mr Wilk_ lives, they don't have any cause to get in and they don't that I am him. Unless you told them?"  
  
"No." Stiles answers quickly. "Of course not. Besides your lawyer, Hamilton, got there fast."

The look Peter gives him is one full of sadness, "you think I don't know that you're FBI, Stiles?"

"Wha-" Stiles is completely taken off guard.

Finally, Peter puts down his briefcase and he walks close enough that their chests brush when they move. "You thought I didn't know that you're Special Agent Stiles Stilinski, FBI undercover prodigy. Your handler is usually Agent Rafe McCall and isn't that an awkward situation for you and Scott. Probably why you don't talk to him much, am I right?"

"If you know all of this, why see me?" Stiles' throat is thick and his chest aches. "You're the one that brought me here."

"Yes," Peter reaches out and takes hold of Stiles' wrist, "I like you, Stiles. I've told you that before."

"So what?" Stiles rips his hand out of Peter's grip. "It was a one night fuck to get me out of your system? A fuck, then thanks very much, have a nice day." Stiles is angry.

Peter looks sad. "Do you honestly believe that it was only a _fuck_?" Peter's voice gets hard, Stiles is finally breaking through his veneer.  
  
"I don't know what to believe Peter! You're a goddamned mob boss and I'm an FBI agent sent undercover to find out who you actually are!"  
  
"Now you know." Peter spreads his arms wide. "You hold more cards than you're aware of. You bring all this tumbling down with a single word."  
  
"But I won't!" Stiles scrunches his hands in his hair, tugging until the pain makes him focus. "I wouldn't do that to you Peter."  
  
"Why not? You don't owe me any sort of loyalty. You've already killed me once."

Stiles deflates, the anger leaving him all at once. "That's not fair."

"Fine." Peter concedes. "You contributed to my death. What's to say you won't contribute to the demise of what I've built up here."  
  
"I don't want to." Stiles says quietly. "Listen to my heartbeat, Peter, I'm telling the truth."  
  
Peter softens as well, his arms fall to his sides and he takes a deep breath. "I know. I know you are. I know you believe that you won't and you don't want to but one day, sooner or later, you'll have to choose between your job, your integrity and me." Peter licks his lips and gives Stiles that sad, resigned look again. "I'm aware I likely won't come out on top."

Stiles' eyes fill with tears. He can't argue with Peter, because there is truth in his statement.

Peter's hands cup his cheeks. "Oh darling, don't cry, sweetheart. What we had last night was something we'll each cherish."  
  
"So we just, what? Part ways?" Stiles sniffs, Peter's thumbs brushing away a few escaping tears.

Peter kisses him. It's heartbreaking for Stiles when he says a very firm but quiet "yes, baby."

"I don't want to, Peter." Stiles admits, arms winding around Peter's waist. Peter tugs him close so they're hugging.

"I don't either, but I don't know what else to do.". Peter says into Stiles' hair. "I'm doing some good here Stiles. I give people homes and a safe space to be a Supernatural."

"I know. But it's-"

"Illegal. Yes. To kill people and make them disappear, to forge social security and creating new identites with the names of the dead." Peter takes a deep breath in, "it puts us at an impasse."

They let go and face each other, "can we have one more night?" Stiles asks.

Peter closes his eyes, he looks older than Stiles has ever seen him. The anguish on his face deepening the lines in his skin. "You'll always want one more night, baby."

"With you, Peter, yes I will." Stiles knows that it's not a good idea, it's not feasible for them to prolong the inevitable. He sighs. "I'm going to get dressed."

"Alright, darling." Peter seems reluctant to let go of Stiles but he does, hands lingering though.

Stiles goes back upstairs his chest aches, his jaw hurts and he wants to cry. He and Peter both want more, they could be so dynamic together but circumstances are keeping them apart. Stiles' job, Peter's business. It's not fair, Stiles wants to scream at the unfairness of it all.

He hunts around the bedroom for one of those v necked jumpers Peter used to wear. Stiles tugs it on after stuffing his plaid shirt and tshirt with his hoodie under Peter's pillow. Hopefully the scent from all three will be enough for Peter.

He pulls on his jeans and his shoes slowly. Hoping to find a solution in these sparse few minutes, wishing Peter will come upstairs and tell him to forget everything and they can live happily ever after. But this isn't a movie, real life doesn't work like that. Reality sucks and it ficking hurts too.

When Stiles is back downstairs Peter isn't anywhere to be seen, there is a light coming from under the office door. Stiles doesn't go to him again.

He pushes the button for the elevator. The doors open and Peter doesn't appear. Stiles steps in. "Goodbye Peter." Stiles knows Peter will hear him.

Just before the door closes Stiles hears something break. Then when the door closes Peter roars. It echoes around, it's loud and primal and shakes Stiles to the core.

**

Stiles takes a very expensive taxi ride back to his dad's place in Beacon Hills. He lets himself into the dark, empty house and tugs Peter's top tighter around himself.

He can still hear Peter's roar in his head.

Stiles knows he can't be alone right now he'd be a danger to himself and to his investigation. So he gets in his jeep and drives over to a house he hasn't been to in years.

"Stiles?"

"Hey Melissa." Stiles must look terrible because she gives him a mothering look and tugs him in for a hard hug.

Stiles' job and working closely with Rafe made him keep a wide berth from Melissa. Scott had been so angry that he assumed Melissa would have been as well. Turns out he was wrong.

"Come on in, love." Melissa smooths his hair as she pulls away. "You're just in time for dinner."

She leads him through the familiar house to the dining room. It's not empty like Stiles had assumed.

Scott is standing, he looks the same as ever, Kira is sat next to him. An empty seat at the head of the table for Melissa and surprisingly, Derek is there as well. He's scowling at Stiles.

"Oh buddy," Scott says and he's in front of Stiles and pulling him into a hug. Stiles clings to him, the comfort of his best friends arms around him. Can he still call Scott his best friend when they haven't spoken in years? "Come on," Scott half carries Stiles into the living room away from the dinner table and guests.

"I heard about your dad," Scott says when they sit. Still with his arms around Stiles. "Mom says he's doing well. Bringing him round tomorrow, out of the induced coma."

"That's right." Stiles nods, his hands are shaking. He tucks them into Scott's side.

"You're here because of something else." Scott shifts so they're facing each other, he clenches his jaw. "Was it something my dad did?"

"No. He's... Well the same as ever." Stiles shrugs. "I don't know if I've done the right thing."

Scott runs a calming hand through his hair. "Come and have some dinner with us. We can talk afterwards. It'll be alright."

Shaking his head Stiles whispers "it won't be alright."

"Come on. Derek's getting grumpy."

"Derek's always grumpy." Stiles snorts but he follows Scott back through the kitchen and sits opposite Scott, next to Derek at the table. "Looks great, thanks for letting me stay."

"Of course, honey." Melissa starts dishing up the lasagna. She gives Stiles a big helping, then when everyone's plates are filled they start to eat and the conversation picks up again.

Stiles doesn't pay much attention as Scott talks about his day at the vet clinic or Kira's day at the kindergarten. Derek is also quiet.

The meal goes by slowly and in the blink of an eye Stiles and Derek are ushered into the living room, beer bottles in hand while Melissa goes to the hospital after kissing everyone's cheek. And Scott and Kira clear up.

Turning his bottle around in his hand Stiles doesn't drink. He gazed at Derek as the other man takes a long pull from his bottle. "So," Derek says seriously "Peter's an Alpha again."

"I- what?" Stiles winces when he hears a crash from the kitchen and Scott cursing.

"You're wearing his top. You're covered in his scent," Derek's nose wrinkles in disgust. "And you smell like Alpha. So Peter's an Alpha."

"Yeah." Stiles goes to drink and puts it down. Derek frowns at the bottle. "I don't drink anymore. Only hard liquor, on the job when I have to."

Derek still looks lost so Stiles explains. "I have a genetic disposition toward alcoholism, Derek. I'm not going to encourage that, but sometimes being undercover I have to drink. I choose to drink something I hate so I know I won't go over the top."

"Okay." Derek says slowly. He puts his half empty bottle down on the coffee table. "Did Peter hurt you?"

"No. He was-" Stiles swallows "-good." More than, even. Derek looks skeptical. "He was good to me. Peter's doing some good things, Derek. He's helping people."

"Peter? Helping people."

"He's giving Supernaturals jobs, homes, security and safety."

"Then what's the problem?" Derek leans forward, elbows on his knees hand clasped together giving Stiles his full attention. "You're devastated. You reek of Peter and heartbreak."

"My job clashes with his."

"You said he's helping people." Derek's eyebrows meet in a deep frown.

"Yeah." Stiles bobs his head. "Just not always on the right side of the law."

"Ah." Derek is finally getting it. "Typical of him. He circumvents the law as well as you used to."

"Better now, I imagine."

"Certainly, if you're enforcing it you can't go around it. The barrier is used to be is now a firm wall keeping your movements restricted."

That's an apt description. Stiles had always been good at working around a rule or law to solve problem, now he has to find his way within their obstacles that he feels trapped. He sits back against the couch. "Huh."

Scott and Kira come in then. "Movie night!" Kira shouts plonking down on the couch next to Stiles holding a hand out. Stiles isn't sure what she wants then Derek is passing her Stiles' beer. "You staying, Stiles? We're going to watch Aladdin."

Scott settles on Stiles' other side. "The live action one. Kira has a thing for Will Smith."

"Who doesn't?" Stiles snorts. He shifts so his head is on Scott's shoulder and Kira is leaning into Stiles' chest. "Even if he is blue."

Derek huffs a laugh. "I'll put it on shall I?" He asks sarcastically before sorting the DVD out. When he sits back down in the chair Derek presses play for the movie and Stiles starts to pay attention as the music begins.

**

The following weeks Stiles spends most of his time at the hospital. His dad is out of his induced coma and can talk and eat normally now. He'll have to relearn how to walk, the bullet shattered his femur. The surgery had salvaged what they could of the bone and put metal in where they had to.

"Alright, kiddo, out with it." Dad sets his cards down and looks gravely at Stiles.

"You can't just stop in the middle of a hand, dad." Stiles complains. "This is poker not go fish."

"And we're betting with plastic forks and spoons." Dad levels him with a look. "Out with it, what's got you so miserable?"

"Have you ever questioned why you became a cop?"

"Oh. Not what I was expecting." Stiles waits his dad out. "Yeah. I did, on the hard cases especially I'd think what the fuck am I doing? But when it comes down to it I like to help people, protect them. As a cop that's how I do it." He gazed out the window for a long while before turning back to Stiles.

"I thought about giving it up. When your mom got sick, even after she died. I couldn't do it. I know I couldn't help her or protect you. I could do it for others though. Most days that was enough."

They lapse into silence and Stiles' dad puts his hand on one of Stiles'. "You know I'm proud of you, son. Whatever you decide."

"If I decide the FBI isn't for me?" Stiles says quietly.

Sad gives him a small smile. "Then I'd ask what happened, support your decision and finally punch Rafe fucking McCall in the face."

That startles a laugh out of Stiles. "I met someone, when I was undercover. He- dad I can't stop thinking about him."

"Undercover?" Dad looks worried. "You got in too deep you lost yourself?"

"No, not like that. It was under my own name, they FBI hid that I'm an agent well. Mostly. It was, well it was to do with you."

"And my shooting." Dad is full of disapproval. "It's not what the FBI and those pricks up in L.A. think. It ain't got nothing to do with that crime family."

"What crime family?" Stiles asks sharply.

"The Wilks." Dad narrows his eyes. "I got shot just outside their Beacon Hills bar, you know-"

"Lunatic." Stiles supplies.

"Yeah. FBI jumped on it. Wanted to use it as an excuse to infiltrate the gang. Mob. Whatever they are."

Stiles is furious. Dad glances at him curiously. "You didn't know?"

"No. I never saw the file of your shooting. Got the call, came straight here and fucking Rafe sent me in. No wonder-"

"He sent you into the Wilk bar without a cover. That bastard." Dad turns red. "You could have been killed!"

Stiles stands. "Dad, I have to go. I won't be long. I promise."

"Alright, kiddo. You do what you need to. I'll be here."

Stiles presses his lips to his dad's hair. "Try not to worry too much. I'll be back soon."

**

It takes Stiles minutes to find his dad's file at the Beacon Hills police station. He was shot, on duty, during an on-site investigation into a single vehicle crash.

There was one other officer with him and a bartender from a nearby bar. Stiles checks the names. He closes the file and puts it back.

The door the sheriff's office opens as Stiles is pretending to look through a drawer. He glanced up and does a double take, "well look what the cat dragged in."

"Oh it's you. I thought it was somebody important." Isaac drawls, he looks good in his deputy uniform. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"I just popped in for something for my dad." Stiles shuts the drawer and rises from the chair. Isaac takes a swift look behind him and steps in, firmly closing the door.

"His file?" Isaac lowers his voice.

Stiles nods once. "What do you know?"

"I've not been a cop for long, not even two years yet." Isaac' cheeks go pink.

"Doesn't matter. You're a werewolf and you spent time with Chris Argent. Plus you're a cop, time doesn't make much of a difference. I trust your judgement."

Isaac gets a surprised expression on his face. "It doesn't add up. I was there, the driver of the car should have died on impact."

"But there was no body found."

"Right." Isaac taps his nose. "Didn't smell right, either. Like gas and sage, no blood or death."

Stiles sits back into his dad's chair and gestures for Isaac to take a seat in the visitors seat. "And the shot?"

"Came from behind, in the industrial lot. I couldn't go and check, I had to help him. The Sheriff, I mean."

"Yeah. And I'm grateful you did. He'd have bled out on his own." Stiles knocks on the wood with his knuckles. "File says the bartender from Lunatic was there."

Isaac nods. "He was our only witness. Saw the crash as he was helping a drunk into a cab, called us and waited outside until we got there."

"He didn't go to the car?" Stiles asks sharply.

"Nope. Just waited for us."

"Huh." Stiles frowns. Something is niggling in the back of his mind. He needs to get his board out. "Think I could have a copy of the file on the crash and the shooting."

Isaac smirks. "It's in the bottom drawer. Left hand side." Stiles opens the drawer and all he sees is a box wrapped in birthday paper. He lifts it up, staring incredulously. "The Sheriff was going to be taking that to his friend the night he was shot. It's what you came for right?"

"You are a good cop, Isaac." Stiles stands and he puts a hand on Isaac's shoulder, then runs it through his curls. Isaac relaxes into his touch, even though it's been years since they've seen each other and they didn't ever really become friends but they were Pack. "You did great. Thank you."

Isaac shrugs unaffectedly. "No big deal." He brushes passed Stiles and out the office.

"It is a big deal, thank you." Stiles says, knowing that Isaac can still hear him. He strolls out the station stopping to talk to the cops he knows, birthday box tucked under his arm. No one mentions it.

Fucking Isaac and his stupidly good ideas

**

The next stop Stiles makes is home. Well, his dad's place. He makes something to eat, with leftovers that he can take in for his dad.

Stiles goes over both files with a critical eye. It doesn't add up.

There is one more person he has to see. Stiles showers and puts on old jeans that are a bit too tight on his thighs and a t-shirt that's stretched thin across his shoulders and chest. He grabs a hoodie and drives across town to Lunatic.

Jamal is behind the bar when Stiles enters. He gives Stiles a big grin and waves, Jamal seems really excited. "Hey kid."

"Hey Jamal. You look like Christmas has come early."

Jamal rolls his eyes. "Some, uh, high ranks from L.A are here tonight." He leans over close to Stiles, "they'll report back to Mr Wilk."

Stiles shakes his head with a laugh. "You'll get a good report. You're a great barkeep."

Jamal laughs loudly enough to draw the attention of people in the bar. He slaps the counter with a flat palm a couple of times. "Barkeep! Ha!"

With a gentle grin Stiles' eyes wander over the crowd in the mirror behind the bar. They've gone back to their drinks and companions after the momentary distraction from Jamal. Just before Stiles is about to ask to speak to Jamal privately he sees him, Roger Hamilton. Peter's lawyer. It's odd and it makes Stiles pause.

Then the crowd shifts slightly, just enough for him to see Hamilton's drinking partner. Stiles goes cold.

"Jamal," he hisses. "I need to talk to you in private. But not your office. I drive a baby blue jeep, meet me there in ten minutes."

Dark brown eyes regard him seriously before Jamal nods once. Stiles drums his fingers on the bar top and waits for the crowds to move and he slips out the front door.

He gets in his jeep and waits.

Eight minutes later Jamal is hopping into the passenger side. Stiles drives away. "What the fuck, kid?" Jamal scrambles to put his seat belt on.

"I need to know what happened with the car, the night my dad got shot."

Jamal goes quiet. His lips pressed into a thin line.When Stiles gazes at him out the corner of his eye, Jamal looks terrified.

"I can help you. I have friends that can protect you."

"You don't understand." He said uneasily.

Stiles pulls into the Preserve and drives down the road to a place where he can park. "I have an Alpha." Stiles says. "You're a werewolf right?"

Jamal is even more scared. Stiles parks and takes the keys out of the ignition. He unbuckles and moves so he can see Jamal's face. "I'm not a hunter, okay. I have been in the know, of the supernatural since I was sixteen and my best friend got bitten by a rogue Alpha. I had a Pack but when I left for Quantico, I left the Pack. I'm human, a Spark but human."  
  
"Quantico?" Jamal whispers.

"I'm FBI." Stiles admits. "I can protect you. I promise, I can hide you, give you a new identity."

"Won't work." Jamal is shaking his head forcefully.

"Because the man that shot my dad is FBI, too, right?"

Jamal nods once, imperceptibly small, barely a movement.

"And he's working with Mr Wilk's lawyer, Roger Hamilton."  
  
"Yeah." Jamal's voice is hoarse, Stiles lays a hand on his arm.

"Thank you. I promise I will do everything in my power, and in the power of people I know to keep you safe." Stiles says calmly. "I just need to know what happened."

Jamal licks his lips, his clawed hands come up to grip at the seat belt over his chest. "I was helping Janine into a cab, she's a heavy drinker and was completely drunk. I saw the cab go and when I turned the car was crashing into the street light. It was empty, the lawyer was there hand out, he smells like sage. The FBI bloke was setting up his gun, I got out my phone to call 911 and Hamilton cornered me. Told me to stay loyal to the family or Mr Wilk would make sure I'll become a warning to others. I stayed where I was, watching them set up.

"The Sheriff and his werewolf deputy, came. The FBI guy pulled the trigger and Hamilton did some magic to make them both disappear from sight. The smell of sage was overwhelming."

"You did good, Jamal. Thank you." Stiles starts the engine. "This is the FBI guy right?" Stiles shows him a picture off his phone. Jamal confirms it. "How'd you know he was FBI?"  
  
"He's been coming to Lunatic for a long time. One day he got chatting to Hamilton. I could never hear what they were saying after the first day, Hamilton put up some magical barrier. He showed his badge to Hamilton. I saw it in the mirror. I don't think they know that I know he's FBI."

Stiles starts to drive, his mind working constantly. "Okay. Thanks. You're a good man, I'll make sure Mr Wilk knows the truth and you'll be safe from his wrath."  
He drives to the only place he knows where Jamal will be protected.

Isaac opens the door with a grumpy look on his face. Stiles beams. "I brought you someone who needs protection."

"Fine." Isaac sighs after eyeing up Jamal. He steps aside and Stiles and Jamal enter.

"Hey, Derek." Stiles waves. "I need you two to get Scott up to speed but Jamal here is in need of help. From a magic user and from an FBI agent."  
  
"Fucking Christ, Stiles." Isaac rolls his eyes.

"Not my fault. Look I'm sorting it out, just keep him safe." Stiles pleads.

"Alright." Derek agrees. "Come on, we're about to watch Frozen."

Jamal grins, "seriously?"

"Isaac likes to have animated adventures after work." Derek says, smiling shyly.

"Awesome." Jamal holds up his fist for Isaac to bump. "I love Frozen." Jamal narrows his eyes at Isaac, "you're the deputy."

"Yeah. This is Derek, we live together but we're not a couple."

Stiles snorts a laugh. Derek rolls his eyes. "You don't need to tell that to everyone who comes here Isaac."

"Only the cute ones," Isaac agrees. "And he's cute, so I'm letting him know."

"I'll leave you guys to it. Look after Jamal, alright. He's important." Stiles solemnly. "And Derek, don't say anything to Peter."

Derek nods and Stiles waves at them, ignoring Jamal's thoughtful look. Hopefully he'll be distracted by Isaac's pretty face to remember Peter's name, or why Stiles mentioned him.

**

Back at his dad's house Stiles complies his evidence. He goes through records and hacks into databases and financial records to get proof from credit cards that both Hamilton and his FBI accomplice were in the bar at the same time.

Stiles strikes gold in the finances. There in black and white is a receipt for a gun of the same caliber that shot his dad.  
  
A lot of his evidence is circumstantial. Stiles needs to go to someone with all of this, he needs help but he doesn't know who to fully trust. It's going to be a long drive to anywhere from here, he should sleep and reassess in the morning.

As he packs up Stiles notices a figure outside his house, watching it. It could be Peter's guy but it's likely not, Stiles has never caught a whiff of him anywhere near.

He texts Scott and Derek. Takes his gun out of it's holster on his bed side table and tucks it into the waistband of his pants. Stiles moves around the house, checking that all the doors and windows are locked before he goes into the bathroom, changes into sweatpants and a t-shirt leaving his shoes on, gun safely hidden for now.

Stiles switches off the lights and pretends he's in bed.

He stays vigilant.

It's late when he hears it. Glass being broken downstairs. He's not sure what that means. Is it the human FBI agent or is Hamilton's magic incapable of unlocking doors?

Stiles controls his breathing, has his gun held loosely in his hand and waits. No footsteps sound on the stairs, but the bottom step creaks like it always does. It's probably Hamilton, using his magic.

The intruder goes down the hallway to Stiles' room. At the door his hands start to glow pale blue with his magic, Stiles from his vantage point in the bathroom lines up the shot and takes it.

A second shot is fired into Stiles' room, breaking his window. It's come from across the street. He can't get to Hamilton without opening himself up to being shot. But, it's dark and if Stiles knows the FBI, which he does, then the shooter will be wearing night vision goggles to see clearly. Stiles calls up his Spark and uses it to turn on all the lights in the house.

It'll burn the eyes and Stiles moves swiftly to the window, hitting Hamilton in the back of the head with the butt of his gun to knock him out. He doesn't have long, he lines up the shot but doesn't get to take it.  
  
Searing pain in his shoulder makes Stiles fall back. He swears harshly under his breath. He's been shot. "Fuck." Stiles bites back a sound of pain, ducking under the window. He presses a hand to his shoulder, it's bleeding a lot.

With difficulty Stiles rips the hem of his t-shirt and ties it tightly around the wound with his left hand and mouth. He's so focused on bandaging himself up that he gets careless.

Another gun shot goes off.

Lights in the neighboring houses are turning on. Good, Stiles thinks bitterly, he won't get away easily.   
  
He's been hit again. This time in the chest. Stiles doesn't know if he can survive this. He fumbles for his phone and it takes a few tries to get it open, he finds a contact he hasn't rung in years and hopes the phone number still works.

Holding the phone up to his ear, Stiles starts to fell cold. He hears sirens in the distance and hopes they'll find him in time, the phone rings in his ear. "Pick up," he mutters. "Please, god, pick up."

"Stiles?"

"Peter," Stiles sighs out, relieved.

"What's going on?" Peter demands. "I know there's been an intruder and gunshots fired."  
  
Stiles laughs wetly. "Your guy is good."

"She is." Peter agrees and Stiles can hear his smirk. "Stiles? Stiles? Talk to me, darling."  
  
"It's Hamilton."  
  
There's a pause, then, "what is?"  
  
Swallowing dryly, "Hamilton's working with Rafe McCall. He's magic, Hamilton not Rafe." Stiles is finding it hard to breathe. "Hamilton broke in tonight, Rafe was across the street with a gun."

"Stiles," Peter sounds distressed. "Have you been shot?"  
  
"Yeah. Shoulder and chest." Stiles admits, Peter sucks in a sharp breath. "It's okay Peter. Just- tell my dad I'm sorry and that I love him, and to eat his vegetable."

"Stiles-"  
  
"Tell Scott I'm sorry it's taken so long to get back in touch. And he's totally right that his dad's an asshole." Stiles is talking fast. "You have let Jamal keep his job, he's a good barkeep, Peter."

"Stiles!" Peter shouts. "You hold on. You can tell them yourself, the ambulance is on its way. Hold on, baby, just hold on for me."  
  
"I'm so cold." Stiles sniffs. "Peter, I'm scared."

"That's okay, baby." Peter's voice is calming, soothing to Stiles. "It's okay to be scared but you're going to be alright."

"I wish we'd had one more night," Stiles thinks he says. "Pe- Pe'er. Pe'tr."  
  
"Baby, Stiles, sweetheart. Just stay awake, just a bit longer for me. Please."

A shadow comes over him and Stiles doesn't even care if it's Rafe McCall finishing off the job or if it's help. "Alpha," Stiles slurs and he hears Peter saying something before the world goes black.

**  
  
Pain. Stiles feels pain. He opens his eyes, there are flashing blue and red lights and paramedics above him. They talk to him.

He blacks out again.

**  
  
It still hurts when he wakes up again.

Stiles can barely open his eyes, there's a tube down his throat and something warm holding his hand.

**  
  
Stiles wakes again, he feels more alert even though everything hurts.  
  
Melissa's face appears above his and she gives him a watery smile, brushing his hair from his face. She says something but Stiles goes back to sleep.

**

This time when Stiles wakes there's no tube down his throat, he's breathing on his own. Oxygen going down his nose. That's a good sign.

"Hey buddy," Scott says gently from his left. "How you feeling?"

Stiles opens his mouth and Scott holds a cup and straw to his lips. "Slow sips, that's enough for now."   
  
"How-?"  
  
"How long?" Scott guess and when Stiles nods he says "it's been a week since you were shot. You had surgery to remove both bullets. The one in your chest punctured your right lung so they had to sort that out. The one in your shoulder hasn't been too bad. Your dad is pissed as hell you got shot."

"Even," Stiles rasps.  
  
Scott grins, "that's what I said you'd say but he says you're not even because you were much closer to death than he was."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"The magical lawyer, Hamilton broke in and my dad was across the street ready to shoot. The woman Peter had tailing you took out my dad after the second shot. He's in prison. As for Hamilton, I'll let Peter fill you in."

"And Peter is...?" Stiles is almost afraid to ask.

"He's angry. Like, super angry." Scott tilts his head. "He'll be here in a minute. I'll leave you now."  
  
"What? Why?" Stiles wants to sit up and look out the door. Scott adjusts the bed for him, so he's almost in a sitting position.  
  
"Two Alphas, small space and we both consider you Pack. It's difficult for me to stay in control. It's not easy for Peter either, no matter what he says," Scott rolls his eyes. "I'll come back later." Scott leans over to scent mark Stiles with his cheek and he whispers "he's hardly left your side since coming from L.A."  
  
Scott leaves and Stiles doesn't have to wait long before Peter is in the room. He looks rugged, and stupidly handsome. He has stubble on his face and his hair is a mess. He's wearing Stiles' hoodie and it clashes with his slacks and the rumpled shirt underneath.

Peter's eyes flash red. "Don't you ever do that to me again."

"I don't plan on getting shot again," Stiles rolls his eyes. Peter sinks onto the side of the bed and holds Stiles' hand.

"I meant don't ring me like that. Also the not getting shot part." Peter leans over and rests their foreheads together just breathing Stiles in. "Though in your line of work I imagine it's a hazard of the job."  
  
Stiles yawns and Peter presses his lips to Stiles' cheek. "Get some sleep, baby. I'll be here when you wake up."

"What happened to Hamilton?" Stiles asks sleepily.

Peter's smirk is showing a bit of fang. "I got my claws dirty."

With a tired smile, Stiles says quietly "will you let me have one more night now?"

"Yeah," Peter's voice is throaty. "We can have one more night."

Stiles smiles and squeezes Peter's hand before settling back with a wince. Peter starts to drain his pain and Stiles falls asleep.

**

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

Stiles is back at Quantico. As he walks through the halls he sees the way people stare at him, or are pointedly keeping their eyes elsewhere. There's rumors flying around about, all of them about Stiles' involvement in Agent McCall's imprisonment.

What Stiles came for doesn't take long. It can't, he's still healing. His shoulder and chest are better and he's recently been cleared for work, so he'd come in to discuss it with his superior. No more undercover work for a while though.

He's in Virginia alone. Stiles had hoped that when he left the hospital he and Peter would be _something_. Only, after he'd woken up Peter had gone back to L.A. When Stiles tried to ring him, on the old number that he's had in his phone since high school, it's disconnected.

Stiles can take a hint. Peter has ended whatever it was they had before it had even begun. It had hurt, made his chest even more sore with the agony of losing their possibility, the potential of them.

On the plus side, his relationship with Scott and the Pack is so much better. They have Pack nights once a month, sometimes they watch movies, others they'll go to Lunatic and watch Isaac and Jamal flirt.

It's enough. For now, with rehab and his friends and his dad Stiles has enough to occupy his days. Nights are a different matter. He tends to lie awake and remember the feel of Peter's hands on his body, the warmth of his skin, the tenderness in his kisses and the passion there. Stiles will masturbate to the memories of their time together, it's always unsatisfactory and it ends with him covered in come feeling empty and alone.

He hates Peter in those moments because they never got one more night. Peter lied and Stiles hates him for that. He also hates that he loves Peter and he never got to tell him.

It doesn't matter now.

It shouldn't matter now.

When Stiles gets back to Beacon Hills the following day he's tired, sore and grumpy. It's Pack night at Lunatic and Stiles doesn't want to go. His dad's out playing poker with Chris, Deaton and Parrish. It's weird. Stiles doesn't ask. Stiles texts Scott tells him his plans to stay in and he curls up on the safe the first Captain America movie in the dvd player.

He's just about to drop off when a knock sounds. Stiles jerks awake and hisses with the pain. It takes him longer than it should to stand up. "Scott, I told you. I'm not coming tonight. I'm staying in and feeling sorry for myself an-" Stiles stops talking when he opens the door.

It's not Scott.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I suppose I deserve that." Peter answers wryly. "Can I come in? I have to explain some things to you."

"Five minutes." Stiles concedes. He steps aside and Peter enters, he smells and looks just as good as Stiles remembers. Peter's in a cardigan and jeans, he is so fucking hot right now and Stiles is a mess. He has on one of his dad's ob Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department tops and a pair of sweatpants.

"I know you're angry and you have every right to be, darling." Peter starts, he puts his hands in his pockets. "I had to take care of things in L.A. before I could come back."

"It took two months?" Stiles is skeptical.

Peter smirks. "It's a surprisingly short amount of time. It's a lot easier to dismantle a criminal empire than it is create one."

Freezing for a moment, Stiles blinks not sure he heard right. "What do you mean?"

"No more Wilk family. I kept the bits I liked the most, the money, the penthouse apartment and Lunatic." Peter holds Stiles' gaze. "A few forged bits of paperwork and a strategically placed body and the police think Roger Hamilton was the infamous Mr Wilk. Of course, no one ever saw Mr Wilk, he only gave orders by phone. Except Alberich, but he's loyal and Pack."

Stiles is astonished. Peter's lips curl upwards in a soft smile. "I couldn't be a mob boss when you're an FBI agent."

"I'm not." Stiles laughs bitterly. "I handed in my badge and my gun yesterday."

"Oh." Peter flicks his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. "You gave up your job for me?"

"You gave up yours for me." Stiles counters.

"Stiles, baby, I'd give up my wolf for you." Peter steps closer, and close until suddenly they're kissing. It's messy and heated and Stiles can't breathe. He turns his head away and sucks in big lungfuls of air, Peter drains the burning pain from his chest.

"Can't do that just yet." Stiles laughs a little. Peter shares his humour.

"Okay, sweetheart. At your pace." Peter eyes him thoughtfully, "you know, you'd make a beautiful wolf. If I bite you, you'll have healed by morning and we could be having sex a lot sooner." 

"As tempting as that is, Peter, I think it's good we won't have sex anytime soon. We can date and learn more than each other's bodies and kinks."

"Do you always have to be so rational?" Peter asks, he's leading Stiles over to the couch. They settle on it, Stiles between Peter's legs, his back to Peter's chest.

"Not always." Stiles links his fingers with Peter's.

Peter strokes his thumb over Stiles' knuckles. "Because you never mentioned it I'm assuming you didn't hear what I said during _that_ phone call."

"The phone call I'm not allowed to make again?"

Humming his agreement, Peter says "that one. And I'll give you my new number in a minute."

"No, I didn't hear it." Stiles twists a little so he can see Peter's face, "what did you say?" He asks curiously.

Peter's hand comes up to cup his cheek and pull Stiles into a soft kiss. "I told you I love you."

"Really?" Stiles shifts so their face to face and he's straddling Peter's thigh. "And I missed it?"

"You've missed it again, darling." Peter raises his eyebrows, amusement in his features.

"Oh right. Sorry." Stiles apologizes, he feels giddy with happiness. "I'm paying attention now. Tell me again."

Peter rolls his eyes. "I don't see why I should. I've said it twice now, and I have no idea if you're just stringing me along until we have sex again," he adds, needlessly, "because it was so good."

"Excuse me, I gave up my career in the FBI for you. I was a Special Agent."

"And I gave up my very lucrative mob boss job for you, darling." Peter purses his lips. "I'm getting impatient, sweetheart."

Stiles watches Peter's face. The amusement fades and when it does Stiles kisses him tenderly. "Peter, I love you."

Peter smirks. "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles enters a bar and pretends to be drunk, he has one drink of whiskey there. He isn't actually drunk but the reader doesn't know this at first, (unless you read this!) and the characters around him think he's drunk. 
> 
> Alberich, is pronounced al-beh-rik and means 'elf power'. 
> 
> Yes, Peter is Han Solo-ing Stiles there at the end. He's not just being an asshole. 
> 
> Unbeta'd. 
> 
> [I'm on tumblr](https://cathcer1984.tumblr.com/), feel free to come say hi or prompt me :)


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